


Dangerous addictions part 2

by RussianWitch



Series: We are not in Stockholm yet [7]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: M/M, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 04:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some hang-ups do more damage then others...mostly to the furniture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous addictions part 2

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd

Blood tastes like sucking on a copper only thick and sticky coating the tongue.  
It takes its sweet time drying on overheated skin and then flakes off with a lot of itching and annoyance.  
Spitting and wiping doesn't really work after a certain amount of grime and John is covered in it; both his and his attacker's blood, sweat because the dojo and most of the Citadel are kept at hell-worthy temperatures and the mess of dirt, gunpowder residue and sand that's spread on the floor of most of the training rooms and sticks to the skin.  
His hair sticks out in wild clumps that remind him to find a knife and hack it off again but his nerves are singing.

Adrenaline rushing through John's veins makes him feel like he's drunk or high. He stumbles through the halls only peripherally aware of where he's going, trusting his body to get him where ever.  
The few people he passes either jump aside or turn around and go the other way. He can't help but grin at that; for a base large enough to count as a castle news gets around fast even without mod-cons to assist in the rumourmongering.  
John blames it on the lack of television; people living without reality TV to satisfy their craving for schadenfreude inadvertently turn on their own for any needed entertainment.

John has had this problem before, he's also pretty sure that he will have this problem again. That's what you get with taking in stray puppies; they will always try to push the boundaries sooner or later.

Since no one warns them, John always seems like a good boundary to push to every nest getting overconfident about one third into their training.  
After all not every one of the lot is a zealot of one type or another; some of them are simply there because joining an evil army of mercenaries sounds better than working in the factories in the big cities or on daddy's farm.  
Of course the smart ones manage to control themselves, or ask their trainers for guidance. The only slightly stupid ones will pick on the servants, and the idiots try to take down John.

Sometimes he wonders why Bane still insists on classifying John as a hostage; John hasn't been treated like a hostage in years, hasn't acted like one either. He trains with the men, fights with them and occasionally gives them orders with the full understanding that he's speaking for Bane and should be obeyed.  
John, as much as he hates to admit it, is practically one of them; in habits if not in training, not yet.  
But Bane doesn't view him as part of the League and so the rest doesn't either and will not until they hear otherwise.  
No matter how subtle: it shows in some things and the puppies pick up on it.  
Also, by the time they get cocky at least half of the puppies have seen John getting pawed by Bane and dragged off to get screwed and they remember, unfortunately for them they never seem to remember that they have also seen him spar with Barsad and some of the other lieutenants and hold his own.  
Granted, John isn't as good as Bane's lieutenants but that's lack of practice a handicap that disappears when dealing with students.

Three of the pups corner him on one of the far terraces where he comes to think, he wonders who is going to end up cleaning the mess and how long it will take for someone to go check on the idiots.  
Some of the broken bones should really be set right away so that infection doesn't set in. 

Bane could put an end to this 'tradition', but John suspects that the mercenary likes it too much. Every time he comes back to the tower bedroom covered in blood and vibrating with adrenaline Bane's eyes shine with pleasure and lust.

John tries to feel guilty about enjoying this game but these days he only manages to feel guilty about not feeling guilty; decent human beings really shouldn't enjoy breaking the bones of people just for being idiots.  
He kicks the door open, half expecting to be attacked again, but Bane is lounging at his desk feet up and seemingly absorbed in one of his endless collection of trashy Soviet era sci-fi novels. The big man looks up only after John has shut the door, and John can see lust igniting behind overly expressive eyes.  
When Bane starts to stand, John's already half hard cock starts to ache in anticipation.  
He really shouldn't indulge the killer's violence fetish, but with the bigger man stalking him like John is prey that's about to be devoured and being high on adrenaline he gives in every time.

Backing up a step, he looks for more room to move aware that he's being herded towards the wall. Attacking Bane is never a bright idea; even when sparring there is always a risk of severe injury because the man has never gotten the hang of putting people down without doing so permanently.  
It's not even that Bane can't control his strength; he can, he just doesn't see why he should since holding back is a sign of weakness.

Bracing his leg against the wall because there is nowhere else to go, John waits for Bane to come closer before even trying to land a kick aiming straight for the mask. His leg is caught inches from the semi-delicate structure and he finds himself hoisted head down into the air. 

"You aren't even trying."

A punishing shake rattles his teeth and his pants get ripped from his body.

"I didn't realize I was expected to kick your ass as well AFTER putting down three of your minions."

Being dangled upside down it's hard to be cocky, but John gives it a try while grabbing for Bane's belt in an attempt to right him-self again. That only gets him shook some more before being turned right side up again, one of his captor's hands palming John's ass and the other wrapping around his throat. He should be terrified; he's seen men die this way after all, instead his body decided to kick it up a notch and he arches into the grip panting at the prospect of things to come.

"They aren't my minions yet, one of them never will be."

News really does travel fast, that one of the men who attacked him won't be a minion can mean many things, it doesn't have to mean that he is dead. Not willing to think about the information just yet, John wraps his arms around the arm holding this throat and manages to loosen the grip just enough to twist and sink this teeth into already overly scarred skin. Instead of jerking his hand away, like any normal human being would do, Bane pushes his hand into John's teeth forcing him to try and pull away, or gag.

The move annoys John to no end; he's seen Bane do the same thing to the guard-dogs while playing with the homicidal mutts in one of the rare instances John's caught Bane acting like a normal human being. He digs his nails into Bane's arm, nailing Bane with a knee to the stomach and ends up on his back on the floor his torn lip bleeding again.

Bane crouches next to him eyes full of laughter poking at John's bleeding lip. John cringes at having a finger poked into an open wound, who knows what Bane had been doing before he decided to read and if he has washed his hands after doing it, and freezes as the now wet finger paints his lips with a oily layer of blood leaving his mouth red and glistening in the harsh light of the bare bulbs illuminating the room. 

"Such a lovely mouth."

The bloody finger slips between John's lips rubbing over his tongue until he starts sucking.

"You fought well, Barsad was impressed."

With one last lick at the coarse skin John pulls away from the invasive digit.

"Doesn't that just make my day!"

Rising up onto his elbow John reaches for Bane's belt pulling at the worn leather, picking at the buckle.

"Careful detective..."

The last bits of the shirt are ripped off John's body leaving him covered in grime, blood and heavy boots; he spreads his legs bowing to the inevitable only to be kicked lightly in the thigh as Bane stands up. John almost growls with irritation; he manages to swallow it down because he can never make it convincing.

He studies Bane wondering, not for the first time, what is going on in the thick head. Just once he would like to get the memo without the head-games and manipulation. Scrambling to his feet, John circles and thinks about what he's supposed to do now.  
Absentminded he wipes his lips smearing blood over the lower half of his face and just barely catching a shudder going through the large frame of his tormentor.  
The shudder makes him smile; they don't talk about the sex or any of their personal hang-ups but they have been screwing long enough to know some things about each other.

John knows he's horribly easy to read and Bane takes full advantage of that every chance he gets.  
Bane barely has any body language in comparison, but sometimes John get's lucky. What they are doing isn't so much a fight as an overly violent game of tag played around the bed, foreplay that leaves both of them bruised, scratched and aching. They grapple and release, hands slipping over skin, catching on scars and tangling in the remains of clothing.

Bane doesn't use his full strength or the full extent of his training leaving John windows to attack again and again. They play until John is on his back on the bed panting; his hands digging into the straps holding Bane in place by the mask enjoying the weight of the heavy body covering him.  
John's hands slide down sweaty skin to wrap around the throat practically presented to him, wrapping his legs around the thick waist... and gasps in surprise, his hands tightening on Bane's windpipe as he suddenly ends up straddling the mercenary.

Bane doesn't look like he minds; he steadies John while getting choked shifting him slightly until John can feel a hard cock against his ass. It's far from the first time he ends up on top, but the first that he is granted even the illusion of power. His hand itches where the side of it is barely brushing the scar left by repeated bites. John frowns squeezing again; looking for a sign, a twitch, something that will give him a hint of what he's allowed to do.

"To the victor go the spoils detective."

Bane's purr sends shivers down John's spine, makes his want to rip off the mask and feed on the scarred mouth. Unfortunately they are both to out of it to manage handling an IV so John has to satisfy himself with licking at the steel mouthpiece and grinding himself against the hard abdomen he's sitting on.

"Are you fucking with me?!"

John rides out Bane's laughter by digging his knees in, still suspicious and not thinking all too clearly he leans in gnawing at the scar tissue. Bane's hand tangles in John's hair pulling him up, making him struggle and twist as he's forced to pull back and slide off Bane.  
John doesn't get the chance to regret no longer being on top; Bane doesn't let go but opens his legs and maneuvers John between them. 

Words fail him; all John can do is whimper and thrust his cock against the meaty ass he's suddenly in contact with.

"You refuse?"

John digs his nails in growling.

"NO!"

John doesn't even care that Bane laughs at him because he is being allowed to fuck the bigger man and he's going to do it even if it kills him. He might not get this chance again, isn't even sure why he's being allowed the privilege now.

His experience being that big guys rarely like to give up control that way, even those who admit to being gay. Bane doesn't have the same hang-ups as far as John can tell, but he has never tried to search out the boundaries of the liberties allowed him when they are behind locked doors. Tree-trunk thighs are on either side of him perfectly capable of squeezing him in half if he does something wrong, but John can't really make himself care about that at all trapped as he is in indecision. Now that he has permission he really wants it all: to feel, taste, touch all of it preferably at the same time.  
He claws at the pants separating him from his 'prize', ripping the zipper and sticking his knee under Bane's ass to leverage him up and get the fabric off while wishing for a knife to just cut through the stubborn fabric and get the awkwardness of undressing over with. 

John isn't being too careful; his nails leave welts as he jerks the fabric down Bane's legs eager to get back to his previous spot so that he can satisfy all of the urges ricocheting through his body. He can't help looking up every couple of minutes to check if he's still allowed to do as he wants. Bane is leaning back, his arms behinds his head watching John acting like a maniac.  
He climbs onto the large body, spreads out over it rubbing himself against Bane like a cat; letting their cock's grind together. 

Familiar territory calms him down as he licks at the marks he's turned into scars by now. Licks down the broad chest nipping at ridges of scars and nuzzling tight nipples until he can hear Bane's breathing become ragged. 

John maps the abdomen down to the hipbones sinking his teeth into the flesh covering them. He nips down to inner thighs then up to the seam between leg and torso, John's hands tease at hard cock and already tightening balls adding his mouth until Bane is making actual sounds and thrusting into his touch. 

John feels his hands shaking as he brushes aside the heavy sack to trace down sensitive skin to the one place on Bane's body he hasn't explored until now.  
The skin is soft and pale the one place that has probably never been touched by the sun, John licks at sweaty skin, following his fingers with his tongue lost in taste and feel he doesn't notice burrowing closer; his fingers catch against the opening and against ridges that even in John's adrenaline haze he recognizes as scars.  
He jerks up shocked, half expecting to be stopped or maybe pushed away but instead sees a man enjoying himself. John is already pulling his hand away when Bane wraps a leg around John's waist pinning him in position. He's ready to protest but is cut off before any of the words leave his mouth.

"Carry on detective!"

The words hold a warning that sets him on edge. He hasn't heard the tone for quite some time.  
At one time he'd probably have protested but a part of him is always aware that he can't make Bane do anything he doesn't want. He hesitates a few moments longer but his body is still raging and Bane's preference is clear. His hand drifts back to pale skin, back to mapping skin and muscle, he bends down busying his mouth with tasting and teasing skin so he won't have to ask any questions he doesn't want answers to at this particular moment. 

Bane's hand in his hair startles him momentarily into looking up again, but fingers tangling in his hair guide him back to the hard cock, the message in the touch clear.  
His fingers find their way to Bane's hole again, this time John forces himself to ignore the scars, he pulls away licks his fingers and starts to press one into the pliant flesh.  
There is less resistance than he would have expected, his finger slips into heat to the sound of a pleased growl. It is the encouragement he needs; John stretches out on the pallet nuzzling the heavy balls aside to lick at the muscle as he pushes the second finger in.  
The hand that's still in his hair tightens as he licks around his fingers wetting the way, trying to be as careful as possible. He doesn't get to be careful for long; Bane's grip on his hair tightens in warning just as he slips a third finger in. He jerks shoving his fingers in harder than he planned and feels muscles tighten around them wondering if it's possible to suffer broken fingers when sticking them up someone's ass.

The hand in his hair disappears then something hard pushes against his shoulder until he looks up to see a familiar container. John wants to curse the distraction until the usefulness of the content of the container finally registers. He grabs it with his free hand thankful when Bane helps by taking the lid off. He sits up positioning himself more comfortably on his knees letting Bane watch as he covers his cock with the slick.

John has almost forgotten how hard he actually is, touching himself almost hurts and he can’t help crying out when Bane’s fingers close around him as well. Bane’s eyes are black with lust and invitation; he draws John in, guides John to where he wants him.

John considers it a miracle that he doesn’t come as soon as he sinks into Bane’s body. He’s almost forgotten how good it feels to fuck someone; his hands run the body under him until he can brace himself against Bane’s chest. He isn’t sure what Bane expects from him but now that he’s inside of Bane all he can think about is letting go. The aggression and rage that had been tempered by lust and hesitation a moment before rise back up and John finds himself clawing at Bane’s chest as he fucks himself into Bane’s body as hard and deep as he can.  
Bane’s hands anchor on John’s hips and John can feel that deep bruises will remind him of this occasion for at least a week.

John imagines being able to fuck into Bane deep enough that they won’t be able to come apart again. John’s hips keep moving as he leans in closer, until the only thing separating him from Bane is the mask, until he’s snarling his pleasure around Bane’s fingers that are suddenly in his mouth smothering the sounds.

Blindly John reaches down, finds Bane’s cock trapped between their bodies and closes his fist around it. Bane moans under him, arches into his grip and tightens his legs around John’s waist. It feels like all the oxygen in the room has disappeared, like he’s suffocating in Bane and in pleasure. John’s hand tightens on Bane’s cock and wide-eyed he watches as the bigger man shudders in pleasure coating John’s hand with his release. Muscles tighten in pleasure giving John the final push to his release. He feels like he is falling into a black hole everything around him disappearing except for Bane.  
He drops onto the wide chest wondering if he will ever be able to move again panting into torn skin. His thoughts feel sticky and muddled, a part of him knows that he should move, pull away and go find something to clean them up or something like that.  
Bane is warm and doesn’t seem to object to John having lost control of his limbs, Bane’s breathing almost sounds like a purr in his ear.

“So why now all of a sudden?”

The body under him rocks with laughter until John growls and finds enough energy to dig his nails in to anchor him-self.

“Hardly sudden detective…”

The amusement is back in Bane’s voice but John is feeling too lazy to look up and check.

“I don’t have enough brain cells for your fucking mind games.”

“It will come to you.”

He’s finally dumped off Bane’s chest, his cock slipping out of Bane’s ass to John’s displeasure.  
John watches as Bane gets up wondering if he’s supposed to try and move as well, something his body doesn’t feel ready for. A blanket lands on him and John grumbles his thanks moving just enough to wrap it around his body. Sleepily he watches as Bane gets dressed like nothing has happened, and maybe nothing has now that he’s worked off the last of his adrenaline John’s body is notifying him of all the scrapes, scabs and bruises he’s ended up with between the fight and the fuck. He really should be taking care of them but all of that seems to be just too much effort because all of that means moving.  
Deciding that he will probably not die if he falls asleep as John closes his eyes.  
Bane’s hand is in John’s hair again for the moment, long enough to force John to open one eye again trying to focus on the man whom he will probably not understand even if he lives a thousand years. 

“For the moment, thank you detective.”

He listens to Bane leaving the room already half asleep and already looking forward to the next batch of idiots who are going to try to mess with him.


End file.
